About 4:00 A.M. on May 6th I made a routine visit to the hospital
 
tunnel. Everything was normal. Breakfast was being served. One
 
blonde nurse winked at me and sang out, "If you fellows can't
 
chase those Nips away, we nurses will have to get out there and
 
do it."
 
     I stopped at the desk of another nurse. She was record-
 
ing the amount of morphine used up in the past 24 hours. "I know
 
this recording is silly," she said. "It won't matter in a few
 
days whether the records are here or not. But I've got to believe
 
that it does matter--I've got to."
 
            The entrances to the tunnel were lit up by the glow of
 
motor vehicles which had been hit by shells and were burning. I
 
checked on a machine gun position outside the tunnel. There I
 
found Sergeants Spielman and Marshall (who knew as little as I of
 
the experiences we were to go through in the months to come). 
 
Their machine gun pit had been blasted out several times during
 
the night. They were digging themselves out of a pile of rubble
 
which had covered their gun in the explosion of a heavy salvo.
 
Sergeant Spielman grinned ruefully and said, "Nothing like this
 
ever happened to me in Crezo Springs, Texas. If Crezo Springs
 
turns out many like Spielman, Crezo Springs is all right.
 
About dawn of the morning of May 6th, we received a
 
report of three Jap tanks having landed in the fighting area. Our
 
anti-tank guns were of World War I vintage. The road leading
 
through the headquarters tunnel had anti-tank barricades at various
 
intervals. These consisted of concrete pillars to which were